CHAPTER TWO
~Five Seasons Later~
Extract from the writings of Brother Dwopple, official Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.
What beautiful spring weather we have been having of late! Our Nameday feast is coming up soon for the spring, and our dear Abbess Songbreeze has still not chosen a name for this glorious season. Abbess Songbreeze seems still as young as the day she became the Mother of our abbey, and certainly twice as pretty. Such a kinder, gentler Abbess Redwall has never known. Her husband, the Champion Warrior, Dannflor Reguba, has hung the great sword of Martin up in Great Hall now, for we have had peace for over sixteen seasons now.
The son of the Champion and the Abbess is growing up nicely, as he is now reached fourteen seasons old! Bracken Swifteye Reguba, he is called, and he is the spitting image of his father, except that he has his mother's eyes. He is such a good young creature. Dannflor has been giving him lessons on how to wield the sword of Martin, for it is only a matter of time before he must pass the title of Warrior onto his son, along with the sword. Young Bracken is surprisingly intelligent for such a young creature, though no less mischievous than his pals.
Many of our old friends have gotten on in seasons and have passed to quieter fields: Janglur, Rusval and Rimrose, the parents of our Abbess and Champion; along with old Friar Butty and other good friends that we honor the memory of.
Old Florian Dugglewoof provides endless entertainment to our Abbey, even in his old age. Other than myself, he is the only remaining member of the original Rambling Rosehip Players from Noonvale. The old walking feedbag seems to be of infinite age, all gray and feeble, but he lives on. The hare is still as gluttonous as he once was, though perhaps not quite as spry.
Sollertree Cellarhog is the other truly ancient creature from the old days. Though still as powerful as he was in his prime, he has been known for great fits of forgetfulness. Ah well, I'm not exactly a young one anymore myself, so what am I saying?
But surely the most elderly of our Abbey is Cregga Badgermum, seemingly indestructible, twice as old as the next oldest Redwaller. She just keeps on going; no other is as wise and kind as the old Badgermum.
Log a log Dippler and his tribe visited with us last season to stay for the winter. What ceaseless bickering shrews must do! But the new Log a log is a good, just leader and manages his tribe well.
Peace and plenty has been prominent of late. The feast is underway, and I am to be needed in the kitchen shortly. Although I'd much rather take a quick nap before heading off to work.
*
The mouse Recorder Dwopple folded his recording into a dust-covered book and stretched. Though he was a relatively young recorder, his joints were stiff from being cooped up in the Gatehouse for so long. The good mouse yawned and strode out into the spring sunlight, flicking a bee from his habit. He sat in the grass near the garden and stretched out full length, soaking in the sunlight until he fell fast asleep.
Other creatures were sleepy that day, as well.
Bracken Swifteye Reguba yawned and absentmindedly pawed at his quill and parchment. Redwall history was so boring, he thought. Sister Nettlebud the hedgehog was teaching the class, and though a good and kind Sister, she was infinitely monotonous in her teachings. Surrounded at her desk by old books and parchments, she sneezed twice in the vast quantities of dust that hovered upon everything, evident even in the sunrays that shone through the open windows.
Bracken was a young squirrel, son of the Warrior of Redwall, Dannflor Reguba; and the Abbess of Redwall, Songbreeze Swifteye. It would seem that the son of two such creatures would be pressured by having such a lot to live up to, but Bracken took it all in stride. He was young yet, but a fast learner, and very smart for his age. He was tall and agile, and already able to take sword-fighting lessons from his father, the Redwall Champion, as it would someday be Bracken's turn to take the sword of Martin the Warrior and become the Abbey Champion.
Though most of the other young pupils in the study room were doing their best to stay attentive, Bracken felt his eyelids dropping dangerously, and blinked, trying to stay awake. He was almost entirely asleep when he heard his name called out sharply. "Bracken!" The young squirrel was startled into wakefulness. Sister Nettlebud stood over him, looking severely through her tiny spectacles down her nose. "I am perfectly aware that it is a nice spring morning, but must you sleep? History is an important aspect of Redwall learning! Now, repeat what I've taught you about our Abbey Charter."
Bracken knew the Charter easily. "To be Brothers and Sisters of peace and goodwill, living together in harmony under the protection of Redwall Abbey, forsaking all unnecessary forms of violence, not only to Mossflower, its trees, grasses, flowers and insects, but to all living creatures-"
Obviously cheated of her chance to catch the young squirrel unawares, Nettlebud said crossly, "Yes, yes, okay. We all know that you know it, Bracken. Tregg! Please continue."
Tregg was one of Bracken's friends, a young mischievous otter who didn't care much at all for Redwall History.
"Um. . .lessee. . .ah! To help, and, er. . .comfort the diss. . .disspo. . .dispossessed, yes, and harbor orphans and waifs, um. . .oh, and offer shelter to. . .to. . .to. . ."
The young otter shrugged, looking distressed. He said in a carefree manner, "Sorry, marm, I can't remember the rest."
Sister Nettlebud glared severely at the sleepy class. "Oh, be off with you, you bunch o' lazy layabouts! Dismissed!"
The class instantly came to life, leaping from desks and hurriedly stuffing quill and parchment into habits. Laughing and talking, the dozen or so young Redwallers made their ways out of the dusty Study into the bright spring sunlight.
Tregg and Bracken strolled through the Abbey grounds, soaking in the early afternoon sunlight. The day was warm and a cool, refreshing breeze blew through the grasses. There was buzz and hubbub in the Abbey this day: the Nameday feast was to be in two days.
Tregg flopped down under an apple tree in the orchard, nimbly avoiding a mouse who ran by with a large basket of apples. Bracken, like the nimble squirrel he was, shot straight up into the tree, plucking the rosiest apples as he went.
He dropped down right in front of his otter friend's nose, who started. He accepted the apple that Bracken handed to him, took a bite, and chewed reflectively. "D'you think we should offer t'help out in the kitchen, mate?"
Bracken grinned. "I don't know about offering to help out. Ol' Friar Guster is sure to make us wash pots, as usual."
Tregg nodded in agreement, imagining the huge, fat otter friar hauling them off to wash the cooking pots. "That's true, mate. Why don't we see if they gots any vittles about, and see if we can filch a candied chestnut or two."
"And if we're asked why we're there, we'll simply say that Soll Cellerhog sent us down for some strawberry cordial, and that we're just passing through."
The two young creatures ran off across the abbey lawn, giggling like naughty Dibbuns.
The kitchen was a myriad of confusion. Steam rose from ovens and multitudes of creatures ran hither and thither, each with his or her specified task. Friar Guster, an immensely fat, jolly otter with a wispy gray mustache, directed them all, yelling above the hubbub.
"Miven, get those chestnuts chopped and candied, right away!"
"I can't find the honey, Friar."
"Benjar, get that honey back here this instant! Don't make me tan your tail!"
"I didn't take it, Friar."
"Skencer, chop that celery lengthwise, then crosswise. Pertelot, how's that custard coming along?"
Bracken darted through, ducking around passing creatures. Skencer, a squirrel younger than Bracken, came running by with a huge armful of celery sticks. He winked at Bracken as he gasped, "Gimme a paw here, will ya?"
Bracken helped Skencer carry the celery to the chopping counter before darting off again. He nearly tripped over Benjar the mole as he licked his sticky digging claws, savoring the honey. "Hey, Ben!" Bracken called as he leapt over the mole and purloined a pawful of blueberries from the counter. Benjar called over, "Hurr, Brack ol' mate, cummere." Bracken bounded over to the mole who gave him a pawful of candied chestnuts. "Take these 'uns. Oi hunnied 'em moiself."
"Thanks, mate!" Bracken stuffed the nuts into his habit pouch and skirted around the central kitchen counter. There, perched at the corner of the counter, was the real prize: a huge bowl of golden meadowcream, stern old Sister Miven guarding it with a hefty wooden spoon. As she saw Bracken amble nonchalantly by, the old mouse waved the spoon at him warningly. "You touch this cream, young 'un, and I'll take my spoon to you!"
Bracken adopted a look of injured innocence. "What, me? Do I look like the kind of creature to steal food off of an honest, hardworking mousewife?"
Old Miven allowed a ghost of a smile at the squirrel's appeasing words. "I'm sorry, Bracken, I didn't mean to accuse you. It's only that lately, things seem to be going missing from the kitchen. I'd suppose it's that old long-eared scoffbag hare."
When Miven turned away, Bracken motioned Tregg the otter to come up behind her from the door. He slid silently up, and suddenly Bracken yelled, "Somebeast's stolen the pies that were cooling on the windowsill!"
Miven grabbed her spoon and narrowed her eyes dangerously, taking off quickly toward the window, muttering, "Why, you filthy food-filchin' rabbit, I swear I'll. . ."
Tregg and Bracken dove headfirst into the bowl of cream, grabbing giant pawfuls and eating up the sticky sweetness.
As soon as Miven turned back, the two young ones slid silently off, cream sticking to their whiskers and ears.
As soon as they had sneaked a large yellow cheese from the counter, Tregg and Bracken felt a heavy paw descend on their napes. They turned guiltily to the face of Sollertree the giant hedgehog, the father of Sister Nettlebud and the cellar keeper. A white, wispy beard streamed from his snout, and his eyes peered out from heavy brows, and as old as he was, he was still huge and powerful. A giant firkin of elderberry wine was held under one arm.
He shook the two miscreants by the napes and growled, "What are you two liddle misbehavin' filchers doin' in the kitchen stealin' cheeses? Out, out, out! There's work to be done in here and you are certainly not helpin'. Now git, if you wants a feast!"
Bracken and Tregg were thrown out onto the lawn. The young squirrel rubbed the back of his neck sullenly. "Ah, what's the difference. Here, have some blueberries."
Tregg sighed and leaned against the sun-warmed stonewall of the main abbey building. He said, "There's nothin' t'do, round here, when feasts are goin' on and they won't allow us in the kitchens, eh, mate."
Bracken sprang up. "Let's go see what Foremole is doing."
Foremole Blenn was, in fact, digging a larch trench in the back abbey lawn for the baking pit. Dirt flew as the industrious mole crew sang a gruff digging ditty in time with their work.
"Lif' that dirt,
That's what we do,
Move soil gurt,
'eave, Mole Crew!"
Foremole climbed out of the pit and tugged his snout respectfully at Bracken. "Hurr hurr, whoi don't you and yurr otter pal get oi an' moi crew some lunchin' vittles, zurr?"
"Certainly, Foremole! As long as I'm in the kitchen for somebeast else, they won't make me leave." Bracken said smartly and sprinted back to the kitchen. Moments later he was back with a tray laden with cheese, summer salad, and blueberry crumble for the moles.
Formole took a portion of it, leaving the remainder on the tray. He waved Tregg and Bracken off, saying, "You zurrs enjoy yurr vittles and leave the goodbeasts alone, hurr."
"Thanks, Foremole!"
The two friends ate their snack with gusto in the shady orchard.
Later they ambled aimlessly around the abbey, searching in vain for some other source of entertainment. They finally ended up in the gatehouse, where Bracken's mother and father were relaxing.
The young squirrel tossed himself into an overstuffed armchair and Tregg sat bouncily on the bed. The Abbess of Redwall sat in a rocking chair near the window, reading a bit of parchment; her tiny spectacles perched on the very end of her nose. Dannflor Reguba, the Warrior, stood by a bureau, rifling through parchments. The two looked up when they young ones entered.
Songbreeze smiled and said, "Hello, Bracken. Hi, Tregg. What brings you here?"
Bracken shrugged in response to his mother. "We're kind of bored. They won't let us in the kitchen and all of our other friends are busy in some way or another."
The Warrior turned to his son and his friend. "Son, why don't you and Tregg collect some mint leaves by the rocks in the woodlands? That's not too far away, and I know that Friar Guster needs some mint leaves for his Great Hall Cake."
The squirrel and the otter jumped up enthusiastically. "Sure, we'll go. Be back in a jiffy!"
The pair let themselves out by the east gate. The rocks were only about a half hour's walk from Redwall, so it wouldn't take them long. Bracken had a small wicker basket that he was taking to gather the mint.
The two friends skipped through the pathway leading into the dense forest of Mossflower. Spring sunlight streamed through the newly leaved trees of the wood, and a cool spring breeze ruffled branches and bushes. It was a beautiful, cloudless day in Mossflower country.
Otter and squirrel laughed and cavorted through the forest trail, soaking in the beauty and joy of the glorious day. The younger creatures were rarely let out of the abbey without an adult escort, and the two friends were taking full advantage of this rare privilege. Though long out of Dibbun stage, Bracken and Tregg were acting like very young creatures in their euphoria. Cartwheeling and leaping through the leaves, they giggled pounced on each other in their happiness. Tossing off his habit, Tregg leapt headfirst into a small path side pond and streaked under the water like a long, furry harpoon, then breaking the surface with such velocity that water sprayed in all directions and droplets rolled down his sleek head. Bracken darted up the highest poplar in the proximity and down again, naught but a blurry reddish streak.
After about an hour of playing aimlessly through the forest, Bracken suddenly stopped in mid-race. He was a good deal ahead of his friend the otter, but he slowed halfway through and looked slowly up at the early evening sky.
"Did you see that, Tregg?" He asked, gazing upwards.
The otter caught up with Bracken, panting slightly. "See what?" He said, following his friend's gaze.
"A dark shape just flew over, low over the woodlands, like some great bird."
Tregg shrugged. "Prob'ly just a crow."
Bracken picked up the wicker basket and started to follow the pathway again through the slightly darkening forest. "We better get the mint leaves and hurry back to the abbey. We've been gone for a long while."
The two friends set off at a quick jog through the path to the rock outcropping. The sky overtop was beginning to fade to a light red and golden color. After a while of walking in silence they were able to make it to the outcropping. Skipping among the rocks, they picked mint leaves at their leisure. All was well and they had a full basket of leaves when suddenly, the thunderbolt struck.
In a gigantic whoosh of black feathers and raucous squawking, a big dark bird fell from the sky like a bolt of lightning, attaching its scaly talons deep into the area between Bracken's shoulders.
"Aaaarrrrrggghhh!" He roared and whirled around. Tregg yelled and leapt at the bird, punching it wildly, but the bird gave a mighty whoosh of its wings and lifted Bracken clear off the ground.
Hanging a foot or two off the ground by the talons embedded in his back, Bracken howled in pain and rage. The bird dropped him into the dust and rocketed at the young otter. Tregg leapt back swiftly, but not swiftly enough: the large black bird dealt him a mighty blow over the head with his great yellow beak, stunning him and knocking him flat.
The bird turned to attack Bracken again. But the young squirrel was not a warrior's son for nothing; he grabbed two heavy stones from the outcropping and leapt nimbly around the rocks. When the big crow-like bird made a stab at him, Bracken dodged quickly aside and brought both of the stones down hard on its head. The force of the blow sent shockwaves up Bracken's paws, but it had the needed effect: the bird toppled sideways off of the rock, landing in a crumbled heap in the dust below.
But the bird was made of stern stuff, and in a moment had righted itself sufficiently and was just about to attack again when Bracken leapt from the rock in a wide arc, bringing both footpaws down with crushing force and accuracy between the eyes of the feathered fowl.
That knocked it out entirely. It crumpled back into the dust, depleted and unconscious. Tregg groaned and sat up, rubbing his head. But Bracken was not quite as well off after the brief fight: the bird's talons had done their work, and a steady stream of blood cascaded down the torn back of Bracken's tunic. He moaned in pain and fell to all fours.
Tregg rushed to him. "You okay, matey?" Bracken groaned in response, reaching behind him and touching the huge gash in his back. He stared soundlessly, as if in a stupor, at the blood that came away on his paw.
Tregg struggled to right him. The young otter was of no great strength, but he was able to half drag half carry his friend off of the rock pile and under the safety and cover of Mossflower.
Light was fading from the sky, and they were still a ways from the abbey. Though his temple still throbbed soundly, Tregg was okay; he wasn't, however, entirely sure about his comrade. Bracken was in great pain, and the bleeding wouldn't stop. Tregg could see his friend getting weak from loss of blood and finally said, "Alright, Bracken, grit your teeth and 'old on, cuz I'm a-carryin' you back to the abbey whether you likes it or not."
He hoisted Bracken over his shoulder, who moaned and then lay still. Half running, have staggering, Tregg made it through the evening back to the safety of the abbey.
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry, it starts out a little slow. I promise it'll get better!)
~Five Seasons Later~
Extract from the writings of Brother Dwopple, official Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.
What beautiful spring weather we have been having of late! Our Nameday feast is coming up soon for the spring, and our dear Abbess Songbreeze has still not chosen a name for this glorious season. Abbess Songbreeze seems still as young as the day she became the Mother of our abbey, and certainly twice as pretty. Such a kinder, gentler Abbess Redwall has never known. Her husband, the Champion Warrior, Dannflor Reguba, has hung the great sword of Martin up in Great Hall now, for we have had peace for over sixteen seasons now.
The son of the Champion and the Abbess is growing up nicely, as he is now reached fourteen seasons old! Bracken Swifteye Reguba, he is called, and he is the spitting image of his father, except that he has his mother's eyes. He is such a good young creature. Dannflor has been giving him lessons on how to wield the sword of Martin, for it is only a matter of time before he must pass the title of Warrior onto his son, along with the sword. Young Bracken is surprisingly intelligent for such a young creature, though no less mischievous than his pals.
Many of our old friends have gotten on in seasons and have passed to quieter fields: Janglur, Rusval and Rimrose, the parents of our Abbess and Champion; along with old Friar Butty and other good friends that we honor the memory of.
Old Florian Dugglewoof provides endless entertainment to our Abbey, even in his old age. Other than myself, he is the only remaining member of the original Rambling Rosehip Players from Noonvale. The old walking feedbag seems to be of infinite age, all gray and feeble, but he lives on. The hare is still as gluttonous as he once was, though perhaps not quite as spry.
Sollertree Cellarhog is the other truly ancient creature from the old days. Though still as powerful as he was in his prime, he has been known for great fits of forgetfulness. Ah well, I'm not exactly a young one anymore myself, so what am I saying?
But surely the most elderly of our Abbey is Cregga Badgermum, seemingly indestructible, twice as old as the next oldest Redwaller. She just keeps on going; no other is as wise and kind as the old Badgermum.
Log a log Dippler and his tribe visited with us last season to stay for the winter. What ceaseless bickering shrews must do! But the new Log a log is a good, just leader and manages his tribe well.
Peace and plenty has been prominent of late. The feast is underway, and I am to be needed in the kitchen shortly. Although I'd much rather take a quick nap before heading off to work.
*
The mouse Recorder Dwopple folded his recording into a dust-covered book and stretched. Though he was a relatively young recorder, his joints were stiff from being cooped up in the Gatehouse for so long. The good mouse yawned and strode out into the spring sunlight, flicking a bee from his habit. He sat in the grass near the garden and stretched out full length, soaking in the sunlight until he fell fast asleep.
Other creatures were sleepy that day, as well.
Bracken Swifteye Reguba yawned and absentmindedly pawed at his quill and parchment. Redwall history was so boring, he thought. Sister Nettlebud the hedgehog was teaching the class, and though a good and kind Sister, she was infinitely monotonous in her teachings. Surrounded at her desk by old books and parchments, she sneezed twice in the vast quantities of dust that hovered upon everything, evident even in the sunrays that shone through the open windows.
Bracken was a young squirrel, son of the Warrior of Redwall, Dannflor Reguba; and the Abbess of Redwall, Songbreeze Swifteye. It would seem that the son of two such creatures would be pressured by having such a lot to live up to, but Bracken took it all in stride. He was young yet, but a fast learner, and very smart for his age. He was tall and agile, and already able to take sword-fighting lessons from his father, the Redwall Champion, as it would someday be Bracken's turn to take the sword of Martin the Warrior and become the Abbey Champion.
Though most of the other young pupils in the study room were doing their best to stay attentive, Bracken felt his eyelids dropping dangerously, and blinked, trying to stay awake. He was almost entirely asleep when he heard his name called out sharply. "Bracken!" The young squirrel was startled into wakefulness. Sister Nettlebud stood over him, looking severely through her tiny spectacles down her nose. "I am perfectly aware that it is a nice spring morning, but must you sleep? History is an important aspect of Redwall learning! Now, repeat what I've taught you about our Abbey Charter."
Bracken knew the Charter easily. "To be Brothers and Sisters of peace and goodwill, living together in harmony under the protection of Redwall Abbey, forsaking all unnecessary forms of violence, not only to Mossflower, its trees, grasses, flowers and insects, but to all living creatures-"
Obviously cheated of her chance to catch the young squirrel unawares, Nettlebud said crossly, "Yes, yes, okay. We all know that you know it, Bracken. Tregg! Please continue."
Tregg was one of Bracken's friends, a young mischievous otter who didn't care much at all for Redwall History.
"Um. . .lessee. . .ah! To help, and, er. . .comfort the diss. . .disspo. . .dispossessed, yes, and harbor orphans and waifs, um. . .oh, and offer shelter to. . .to. . .to. . ."
The young otter shrugged, looking distressed. He said in a carefree manner, "Sorry, marm, I can't remember the rest."
Sister Nettlebud glared severely at the sleepy class. "Oh, be off with you, you bunch o' lazy layabouts! Dismissed!"
The class instantly came to life, leaping from desks and hurriedly stuffing quill and parchment into habits. Laughing and talking, the dozen or so young Redwallers made their ways out of the dusty Study into the bright spring sunlight.
Tregg and Bracken strolled through the Abbey grounds, soaking in the early afternoon sunlight. The day was warm and a cool, refreshing breeze blew through the grasses. There was buzz and hubbub in the Abbey this day: the Nameday feast was to be in two days.
Tregg flopped down under an apple tree in the orchard, nimbly avoiding a mouse who ran by with a large basket of apples. Bracken, like the nimble squirrel he was, shot straight up into the tree, plucking the rosiest apples as he went.
He dropped down right in front of his otter friend's nose, who started. He accepted the apple that Bracken handed to him, took a bite, and chewed reflectively. "D'you think we should offer t'help out in the kitchen, mate?"
Bracken grinned. "I don't know about offering to help out. Ol' Friar Guster is sure to make us wash pots, as usual."
Tregg nodded in agreement, imagining the huge, fat otter friar hauling them off to wash the cooking pots. "That's true, mate. Why don't we see if they gots any vittles about, and see if we can filch a candied chestnut or two."
"And if we're asked why we're there, we'll simply say that Soll Cellerhog sent us down for some strawberry cordial, and that we're just passing through."
The two young creatures ran off across the abbey lawn, giggling like naughty Dibbuns.
The kitchen was a myriad of confusion. Steam rose from ovens and multitudes of creatures ran hither and thither, each with his or her specified task. Friar Guster, an immensely fat, jolly otter with a wispy gray mustache, directed them all, yelling above the hubbub.
"Miven, get those chestnuts chopped and candied, right away!"
"I can't find the honey, Friar."
"Benjar, get that honey back here this instant! Don't make me tan your tail!"
"I didn't take it, Friar."
"Skencer, chop that celery lengthwise, then crosswise. Pertelot, how's that custard coming along?"
Bracken darted through, ducking around passing creatures. Skencer, a squirrel younger than Bracken, came running by with a huge armful of celery sticks. He winked at Bracken as he gasped, "Gimme a paw here, will ya?"
Bracken helped Skencer carry the celery to the chopping counter before darting off again. He nearly tripped over Benjar the mole as he licked his sticky digging claws, savoring the honey. "Hey, Ben!" Bracken called as he leapt over the mole and purloined a pawful of blueberries from the counter. Benjar called over, "Hurr, Brack ol' mate, cummere." Bracken bounded over to the mole who gave him a pawful of candied chestnuts. "Take these 'uns. Oi hunnied 'em moiself."
"Thanks, mate!" Bracken stuffed the nuts into his habit pouch and skirted around the central kitchen counter. There, perched at the corner of the counter, was the real prize: a huge bowl of golden meadowcream, stern old Sister Miven guarding it with a hefty wooden spoon. As she saw Bracken amble nonchalantly by, the old mouse waved the spoon at him warningly. "You touch this cream, young 'un, and I'll take my spoon to you!"
Bracken adopted a look of injured innocence. "What, me? Do I look like the kind of creature to steal food off of an honest, hardworking mousewife?"
Old Miven allowed a ghost of a smile at the squirrel's appeasing words. "I'm sorry, Bracken, I didn't mean to accuse you. It's only that lately, things seem to be going missing from the kitchen. I'd suppose it's that old long-eared scoffbag hare."
When Miven turned away, Bracken motioned Tregg the otter to come up behind her from the door. He slid silently up, and suddenly Bracken yelled, "Somebeast's stolen the pies that were cooling on the windowsill!"
Miven grabbed her spoon and narrowed her eyes dangerously, taking off quickly toward the window, muttering, "Why, you filthy food-filchin' rabbit, I swear I'll. . ."
Tregg and Bracken dove headfirst into the bowl of cream, grabbing giant pawfuls and eating up the sticky sweetness.
As soon as Miven turned back, the two young ones slid silently off, cream sticking to their whiskers and ears.
As soon as they had sneaked a large yellow cheese from the counter, Tregg and Bracken felt a heavy paw descend on their napes. They turned guiltily to the face of Sollertree the giant hedgehog, the father of Sister Nettlebud and the cellar keeper. A white, wispy beard streamed from his snout, and his eyes peered out from heavy brows, and as old as he was, he was still huge and powerful. A giant firkin of elderberry wine was held under one arm.
He shook the two miscreants by the napes and growled, "What are you two liddle misbehavin' filchers doin' in the kitchen stealin' cheeses? Out, out, out! There's work to be done in here and you are certainly not helpin'. Now git, if you wants a feast!"
Bracken and Tregg were thrown out onto the lawn. The young squirrel rubbed the back of his neck sullenly. "Ah, what's the difference. Here, have some blueberries."
Tregg sighed and leaned against the sun-warmed stonewall of the main abbey building. He said, "There's nothin' t'do, round here, when feasts are goin' on and they won't allow us in the kitchens, eh, mate."
Bracken sprang up. "Let's go see what Foremole is doing."
Foremole Blenn was, in fact, digging a larch trench in the back abbey lawn for the baking pit. Dirt flew as the industrious mole crew sang a gruff digging ditty in time with their work.
"Lif' that dirt,
That's what we do,
Move soil gurt,
'eave, Mole Crew!"
Foremole climbed out of the pit and tugged his snout respectfully at Bracken. "Hurr hurr, whoi don't you and yurr otter pal get oi an' moi crew some lunchin' vittles, zurr?"
"Certainly, Foremole! As long as I'm in the kitchen for somebeast else, they won't make me leave." Bracken said smartly and sprinted back to the kitchen. Moments later he was back with a tray laden with cheese, summer salad, and blueberry crumble for the moles.
Formole took a portion of it, leaving the remainder on the tray. He waved Tregg and Bracken off, saying, "You zurrs enjoy yurr vittles and leave the goodbeasts alone, hurr."
"Thanks, Foremole!"
The two friends ate their snack with gusto in the shady orchard.
Later they ambled aimlessly around the abbey, searching in vain for some other source of entertainment. They finally ended up in the gatehouse, where Bracken's mother and father were relaxing.
The young squirrel tossed himself into an overstuffed armchair and Tregg sat bouncily on the bed. The Abbess of Redwall sat in a rocking chair near the window, reading a bit of parchment; her tiny spectacles perched on the very end of her nose. Dannflor Reguba, the Warrior, stood by a bureau, rifling through parchments. The two looked up when they young ones entered.
Songbreeze smiled and said, "Hello, Bracken. Hi, Tregg. What brings you here?"
Bracken shrugged in response to his mother. "We're kind of bored. They won't let us in the kitchen and all of our other friends are busy in some way or another."
The Warrior turned to his son and his friend. "Son, why don't you and Tregg collect some mint leaves by the rocks in the woodlands? That's not too far away, and I know that Friar Guster needs some mint leaves for his Great Hall Cake."
The squirrel and the otter jumped up enthusiastically. "Sure, we'll go. Be back in a jiffy!"
The pair let themselves out by the east gate. The rocks were only about a half hour's walk from Redwall, so it wouldn't take them long. Bracken had a small wicker basket that he was taking to gather the mint.
The two friends skipped through the pathway leading into the dense forest of Mossflower. Spring sunlight streamed through the newly leaved trees of the wood, and a cool spring breeze ruffled branches and bushes. It was a beautiful, cloudless day in Mossflower country.
Otter and squirrel laughed and cavorted through the forest trail, soaking in the beauty and joy of the glorious day. The younger creatures were rarely let out of the abbey without an adult escort, and the two friends were taking full advantage of this rare privilege. Though long out of Dibbun stage, Bracken and Tregg were acting like very young creatures in their euphoria. Cartwheeling and leaping through the leaves, they giggled pounced on each other in their happiness. Tossing off his habit, Tregg leapt headfirst into a small path side pond and streaked under the water like a long, furry harpoon, then breaking the surface with such velocity that water sprayed in all directions and droplets rolled down his sleek head. Bracken darted up the highest poplar in the proximity and down again, naught but a blurry reddish streak.
After about an hour of playing aimlessly through the forest, Bracken suddenly stopped in mid-race. He was a good deal ahead of his friend the otter, but he slowed halfway through and looked slowly up at the early evening sky.
"Did you see that, Tregg?" He asked, gazing upwards.
The otter caught up with Bracken, panting slightly. "See what?" He said, following his friend's gaze.
"A dark shape just flew over, low over the woodlands, like some great bird."
Tregg shrugged. "Prob'ly just a crow."
Bracken picked up the wicker basket and started to follow the pathway again through the slightly darkening forest. "We better get the mint leaves and hurry back to the abbey. We've been gone for a long while."
The two friends set off at a quick jog through the path to the rock outcropping. The sky overtop was beginning to fade to a light red and golden color. After a while of walking in silence they were able to make it to the outcropping. Skipping among the rocks, they picked mint leaves at their leisure. All was well and they had a full basket of leaves when suddenly, the thunderbolt struck.
In a gigantic whoosh of black feathers and raucous squawking, a big dark bird fell from the sky like a bolt of lightning, attaching its scaly talons deep into the area between Bracken's shoulders.
"Aaaarrrrrggghhh!" He roared and whirled around. Tregg yelled and leapt at the bird, punching it wildly, but the bird gave a mighty whoosh of its wings and lifted Bracken clear off the ground.
Hanging a foot or two off the ground by the talons embedded in his back, Bracken howled in pain and rage. The bird dropped him into the dust and rocketed at the young otter. Tregg leapt back swiftly, but not swiftly enough: the large black bird dealt him a mighty blow over the head with his great yellow beak, stunning him and knocking him flat.
The bird turned to attack Bracken again. But the young squirrel was not a warrior's son for nothing; he grabbed two heavy stones from the outcropping and leapt nimbly around the rocks. When the big crow-like bird made a stab at him, Bracken dodged quickly aside and brought both of the stones down hard on its head. The force of the blow sent shockwaves up Bracken's paws, but it had the needed effect: the bird toppled sideways off of the rock, landing in a crumbled heap in the dust below.
But the bird was made of stern stuff, and in a moment had righted itself sufficiently and was just about to attack again when Bracken leapt from the rock in a wide arc, bringing both footpaws down with crushing force and accuracy between the eyes of the feathered fowl.
That knocked it out entirely. It crumpled back into the dust, depleted and unconscious. Tregg groaned and sat up, rubbing his head. But Bracken was not quite as well off after the brief fight: the bird's talons had done their work, and a steady stream of blood cascaded down the torn back of Bracken's tunic. He moaned in pain and fell to all fours.
Tregg rushed to him. "You okay, matey?" Bracken groaned in response, reaching behind him and touching the huge gash in his back. He stared soundlessly, as if in a stupor, at the blood that came away on his paw.
Tregg struggled to right him. The young otter was of no great strength, but he was able to half drag half carry his friend off of the rock pile and under the safety and cover of Mossflower.
Light was fading from the sky, and they were still a ways from the abbey. Though his temple still throbbed soundly, Tregg was okay; he wasn't, however, entirely sure about his comrade. Bracken was in great pain, and the bleeding wouldn't stop. Tregg could see his friend getting weak from loss of blood and finally said, "Alright, Bracken, grit your teeth and 'old on, cuz I'm a-carryin' you back to the abbey whether you likes it or not."
He hoisted Bracken over his shoulder, who moaned and then lay still. Half running, have staggering, Tregg made it through the evening back to the safety of the abbey.
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry, it starts out a little slow. I promise it'll get better!)